


Stranger to the Combat Zone

by Domina_Justicia



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/F, non-canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-07-26 20:16:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7588531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Domina_Justicia/pseuds/Domina_Justicia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just another day for the Commonwealth's very best asskicking brawler, that is until the Combat Zone gets an unwelcome visitor and she's dragged off into the bowels of the Commonwealth with a woman who seems hell bent on getting herself killed for a pile of caps. A woman after Cait's own heart, so it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The crowd of killers and junkies cheered at the fiery redheaded Irish woman who had just body slammed a six foot and what felt like to her a half a tonne mammoth to the mat. She stood, her lungs burning and her muscles aching, and threw her fisted hands up in victory with a large grin. It was a fight which seemed to last hours for her but she knew it was probably only just seconds for the scum still shooting up their arms in the audience. Nevertheless, the big guy still didn’t seem finished with her, as he had somehow managed to pull himself up onto his knees and spat blood onto the mat.

“For fuck sake stay down!” the resounding crack of her knee hitting his face was drowned out by the piercing roar of gunfire that brought to life the Combat Zone. The Irish brawler ducked and sprinted to the corner as the scum of the earth that filled the once luxurious theatre scrambled to find cover, their pants and their guns in a mad dash.

The muzzle flashes from dozens of guns lit up the Combat Zone, temporarily leaving the redhead blinded, but in between the flashes she could have sworn she saw a woman – built like a tank and dressed fully in blue – cutting through the filth with deadly precision.

The brawler felt a hand grab her shoulder from where she was crouched next to the cage and out of habit, she spun and threw the owner to the ground without thinking. A grenade exploded somewhere close by which sent shrapnel and debris flying about the Combat Zone, some of it landing on the ghoul she just threw to the ground. The same guy who held her contract named Tommy.

As she stood there for a moment, she thought about curb stomping his head but was distracted by the sudden silence that had fallen over the Combat Zone. She turned, barely batting an eye at all the blood and body parts that littered the theatre and the cage, and watched as the woman she saw earlier survey the area. She had a dark mane of hair that was freely resting on her shoulders, a sharp jaw and statuesque features that were blank as she collected ammunition and caps from the scum she put out of their misery. A large combat knife was holstered to her right thigh, a 44. Magnum on her hip and another, smaller knife attached to her left calf.

The Irish brawler was too caught up in the stranger and hadn’t realised Tommy was yelling at her until he grabbed her by the shoulders. “Are you listening, Cait?!” All it took was a shove at half her strength and the ghoul in the suit almost went tumbling down onto his arse again.

“Jesus Christ, Tommy, shut the hell up will ya?” she spat harshly.

The stranger seemed to pay attention to them then and casually walked up and into the cage, a dangerous look in her dark green eyes as she lowered her beast of an assault rifle. Her boot planted itself on the chest of the man that was kneed in the face right before all hell broke loose and with a squeeze of the trigger once more, the mat was caked in blood and brain matter. The woman then casually stepped off the guy and sized up the two remaining scumbags in the Combat Zone.

“Well? What’s it gonna be hotshot?” Tommy demanded, voice wavering. “Gonna put us in the ground too? Finish us off after killing our clientele?”

The woman locked eyes with him, her dark green gaze piercing and unwavering as she answered. “I killed off a group of raiders. I believe the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you’.”

Cait raised an eyebrow at the woman’s forwardness, something Cait herself could respect, and her reaction didn’t go unnoticed by the woman.

“Oh yes, _thank you_ for liberating us from our only source of income! Now I have to go and find another bunch of sorry, pathetic wastes of air to keep us fed.”

At that, Cait scoffed and rounded on Tommy. “To hell with ‘em! More’ll come!”

“Yes, more _will_ come and-”

“Alright,” the woman grumbled, impatient. Tommy shut his trap as soon as her deep voice cut him off, a miracle in the eyes of Cait. “Have fun being beaten and fucked in the ass when the next bunch comes. Don’t say you two weren’t warned.” She turned away without another word and walked towards the exit of the cage when Tommy perked up. But not before Cait spotted a well serviced combat shotgun and a well sculptured ass clad in vault suit.

“H-hey wait up a minute!”

The stranger turned with a sigh, working the kinks out of her shoulders as she waited for Tommy to spit it out. During the time it took for him to nut up, Cait let her eyes roam over the woman’s body in a curious perusal of the most impressive killer Cait had seen in a long while. There were not hints of withdrawal around or in the woman’s eyes, her hair wasn’t matted with blood like most women who frequent raider gangs and simply by judging the way she handled herself, Cait knew she was no stranger to the Commonwealth _or_ the sport of killing.

_An’ those damn legs…Jesus. What I wouldn’t give to have ‘em wrapped around me neck for a night. Could wear her like a–_

Cait’s thoughts stopped short as soon as she locked eyes with the stranger. Knowing she’d been caught, Cait never blushed but simply gave a sly wink with the cheekiest grin she could muster. Tommy on the other hand was unaware of that brief moment and when he finally started talking again, the stranger’s attention was brought back to him. Not once did a single emotion flutter across her face.

“I tell ya what, you pick up Cait’s contract and we can call it even.”

“ _’Call_ it _even’_?” The woman growled, clearly angry now. “I’ll tell you how we’re going to fucking call it even!” Tommy – the scoundrel – hid behind Cait as the woman’s assault rifle was levelled at his head.

“No, no, no! I meant-I-I meant I have an idea!” Cait pushed him off and stepped aside, mentally willing the stranger who then stood less than a metre away to pull the damn trigger. Tommy had is corpse-hands raised either side of his head as he began vomiting words in a mad rush. “I need to get this place up and running again and Cait here is of no use to me. In fact, she’s a liability, always shootin’ up whenever she gets the chance and I’ll be dammed if I have only _her_ to talked to for God knows how long. She’ll probably kill me a week in. So what I’m sayin’ here, is that you take her contract and do whatever the hell you want with it. You saw her fight, she’s the best goddamn brawler in the Commonwealth. She could watch your back-”

“ _Me_? And _her_? Just what the fuckin’ hell do ya think yer doin’ Tommy?” Cait spat harshly.

“This doesn’t concern you, little bird.” Tommy replied, calmer now that he realised the woman had lowered her gun. “So, whaddaya say hotshot? Ready to tango with the best?” Despite Cait’s furious glare which all but set him on fire, Tommy kept his black eyes on the woman in front of him who seemed to be thinking his proposition over.

“Fine.” The woman finally grumbled, receiving the crumpled and smudged contract from Tommy. She then turned stiffly to Cait. “How long until you’re ready to leave?” Cait didn’t reply but instead continued glaring at Tommy as she picked up her red baseball bat and her satchel of chems that she always tossed to her side of the ring before a fight, and then stepped up next to the woman clad in blue and leather, only offering a curt nod in her direction. “Good luck to you when the next lot show up.” And then the woman turned and continue walking out of the Combat Zone, Cait then turning and exiting with her without even a single look back at the place she once called home.

 

 

When Cait stepped outside of the shithole for the first time in what felt like years, hell it literally was _three_ years, the smell and sight of the crumpled city surrounding it left her somewhat breathless. Or it might have been the drugs in her system or too many knocks to the head. Either way the brawler paused for a split second, her eyes adjusting to the bright white glare from the sun beating down on the remains of the concrete jungle, the only thing not hurting her eyes was the dark blue figure now walking away from her. Without further ado, Cait picked up a double barrel shotgun and a box of ammo from one of the raiders sprawled dead at the door and ran to catch up.

The woman who now held Cait’s contract walked with a purpose, her stride unwavering, her shoulders set and her gaze firm. A hardened soul fighting the fucked up world around her. Cait respected that.

“Ay, ya don’t wanna be goin’ that way.” Cait called from where she trailed five paces behind. Swann’s lake lay ahead and the woman in the blue vault suit and black combat armour from her shoulders to her toes turned her back to it and casually faced Cait.

“Why?” she asked, which sounded a little like an irritated growl.

“Swann.” Cait replied simply, an eyebrow raised. “In the lake, apparently he’s a big fucker.”

Cait only heard of the big bastard from the raiders and by the sound of it, he wasn’t too fond of company. In fact, that was why they were so adamant in staying in the Combat Zone. The damn cowards wouldn’t risk going through Boston Common because of him and couldn’t leave where they were because of the Gunners set up somewhere around the area. So why not stay in a crumbling shanty town with more drugs than one can handle with some angry chick fighting other fuckers in the middle of a cage? The woman in black and blue turned around and grumbled something under her breath, heading straight for the park. “Ya really wanna fuck with em then?”

“I got a score to settle with the prick.” She kicked aside the chains blocking the path and reached for something on her belt. Three clicks later and three grenades were sailing into the lake directly towards some plastic piece of shit that looked like a white bird of some kind. Cait watched as the woman began taking steps back, eyes on the lake in front of her, and just waited.

A large plume of water shot upwards with a muffled series of explosions that were cut off by the roar of one angry green bastard. For a moment, Cait’s jaw dropped at the sheer size of the fucker and she looked over to the woman who stood her ground with her rifle raised.

_Fuckin’ hell. First time outta that shitehole in years and I get offed by some overgrown turd._

Gunfire soon joined the roar of Swann as he lifted a giant club looking thing that made Cait’s bat look like a toothpick. The brawler just stood and watched as bullet after bullet was buried in Swann’s head and chest, but the fucker just wouldn’t die. Cait pulled out her shotgun from where it hung from her back and took a few steps forward when she saw the woman in blue – still standing stationary even though the fucker was storming forward – pull out a fourth grenade, removed the pin and threw. She stood and waited for a second, her gun raised but not a bullet fired until the grenade was just about to whack Swann in the face and bounce off. With expert precision, the single bullet she fired hit the grenade as it was in front of his nose and exploded, blowing apart Swann’s face and dropping his corpse like a sack of shit.

For a moment, a very very _rare_ moment, Cait was left speechless. Without a word, the woman walked forward, snapped off the head of the plastic bird that was attached to Swann’s back and walked back over to Cait with a cocky, lopsided grin.

“Holy fucking shite.” Cait murmured slowly. “What the fuck did I just see?”

“Skill baby, you just saw skill.” The woman replied casually and started walking away from the mess she singlehandedly created. “You been to Goodneighbour?”

Cait turned around and started following, the last few seconds still replaying in her mind. “No.”

“Huh. I have a feeling it’s your type of town.”

 

 

As it turned out, Goodneighbour wasn’t too bad, but had a few more ghouls than Cait would’ve liked. It would’ve been nice to talk to someone without a face like Tommy’s for a while, but it was good enough. The alcohol was cheap, the chems equally so and nobody asked too many questions which was a definite plus in the brawler’s book. Cait found that she liked following behind the new owner of her contract, it offered a nice view of the best piece of ass she’s seen in a real long time and it most certainly didn’t hurt that it was clad in a tight blue suit almost begging to be groped. In fact, as the woman stopped to talk to some ghoul wearing what looked like a pirate hat, Cait couldn’t help but to grope that work of art with her eyes.

Either the ghoul didn’t notice or he himself was too busy checking out the woman in blue from the front. She didn’t hear what they were talking about, but something about the town seemed to just click with Cait. Junkies, drifters, prostitutes, all the scum of the wasteland in one roughed up place that made Cait feel as though she were at home, minus her fucked up parents of course.

“I see you’ve managed to score yourself a good lookin’ bed warmer, eh? Must admit, she looks like the type to stab you in your eyeball with a screwdriver if you ask me.” The ghoul said, his black eyes finally looking to Cait. Or so she _thought_ they were because you really couldn’t tell with these corpses.

“Extra gun, actually.” The woman replied coolly, her dark green gaze sweeping over to Cait before returning to the ghoul. “Swann’s dead by the way. Got this here to prove it.” At the sight of the white plastic bird head, the ghoul grinned and grabbed the woman’s shoulder in a thankful squeeze.

“Brock, you keep this up and there won’t be any need for Fahrenheit _or_ her goonies.”

“Keep on dreaming.” A sharp voice said from the side, almost startling Cait. She looked up to see a woman with a half shaved head, her remaining orange hair swept to the side. _Rugmuncher, gotta be._ Cait thought to herself and was only supported by the fact that the woman’s eyes openly ran over the body of the woman in blue, who was apparently named Brock

“You can keep your job, Fahrenheit. I don’t do _under the table_ services for the mayor and I’m not about to start.” Brock replied with a shit eating grin and stepped back to Cait’s side. Fahrenheit scoffed and handed something that looked like a small bag to Brock before retreating from wherever the hell she popped out from. Cait was silent as Brock and Hancock started chatting like a bunch of old women, her freckled arms folded across her chest as she leant against a flickering lamppost, the cold from the lowering sun reaching over the wasteland like a tidal wave.

It was never a slow process, the weather. It could go from blue sky free of clouds to an almost ear shattering radstorm which made Cait think the whole of the Combat Zone would crumble down on her in under five minutes. Temperature wasn’t much different. One moment it was stifling hot, the next, sweat would almost be frozen on still warm skin. It was one of _those_ evenings and Cait’s skin was almost stinging from how cold the air suddenly got.

Her eyes however, remained on Brock who seemed to be humouring the chatty ghoul. _Ugly bastard probably hasn’t seen a woman that good lookin’ in his life._ A shift of her shoulders, a small shuffled of her feet and a quick sweep of her hair in the space of five minutes told Cait that Brock was utterly over chatting. With a small smirk, Cait stepped over – both anxious to get out of the cold and also to take advantage of an opportunity to touch this _very_ touchable woman – and threw her arm over Brock’s shoulders and looked pointedly at the ghoul.

“Don’t mean to be rude ‘ere, but I’m freezin’ me tits off.” The ghoul just gave a hearty laugh as Brock quickly stepped out from under Cait’s arm, a look of displeasure on her face even though she offered a small smirk. _Not one for touchin’ eh? Damn shame._

“Hotel Rexford is where you wanna go then, my dear.” The ghoul said, a grin on his mouth. “Tell ya what. I’ll shout you both a room since Swann’s rottin’ in the Common, yeah?”

“Sounds good.” Brock nodded and looked to Cait as Hancock started walking to the Rexford. “That’s if you’re staying, of course.” At Cait’s raised brow, she elaborated. “I won’t _own_ you. It’s a bullshit thing to have over someone else. Here,” she handed over the scrunched paper that was Cait’s contract and proceeded to look the brawler in the eye, her gaze insanely focused despite the soon-to-be-freezing wind that whipped around them. “You’re a free woman now, Cait. It was great knowing you.” Cait remained silent for a good minute after, the paper clenched in her hands as she stared down at it like she had grown a third hand. Upon looking up, she studied Brock who was waiting for her to say something, to make a decision she guessed. So Cait only went with what she knew.

“Ya don’t want me with ya then, eh? Fine, your funeral.” Cait went to turn and walk away, but she felt a warm hand grasp her arm to stop her.

“No, you misread me.” Cait turned and watched Brock brush her hair away from her face, finding the deep green of the woman’s gaze almost verging on an impossibility. “What I mean is, you can leave or you can stay and fuck shit up with me. It’s entirely up to you, but I myself couldn’t lie straight knowing that you’re only there because I ‘owned’ you. I know the trade, I know some of the shit that goes on firsthand and I know how fucking hard it is to finally get free from it all. I’m giving you that chance now. Do with it as you will, Cait.”

Brock gave her arm a quick, gentle squeeze before she turned and started following the ghoul. If it wasn’t for that ass clad in that tight blue vault suit, Cait might’ve turned and never seen Brock again, but as it happened, Cait decided to stick by her. At least, for a little while.


	2. The Wreck of USS Riptide

 

Cait ran through the streets, puffs of dust and ash exploding all around her from the impacts of bullets that barely missed her by a hair’s breath. She scrambled to safety behind a burnt out car, reloading her shotgun just in time as a raider vaulted over the hood with his gun raised. One pull of the trigger and an explosion of bone and brain matter covered Cait’s front in blood. With a disgusted wretch of her gut, the brawler quickly snatched a box of ammo and ducked down low below the car, her eyes scanning the streets for that _damn_ woman.

The last time Cait saw her, they were cornered by Super Mutants a few blocks over. On their own, the big lug-heads wouldn’t have posed much of a problem but the gunfire had drawn in a bunch of raiders who no doubt wanted to pick from the scraps left over, easily outnumbering the two women tenfold.

“Where’d the little bitch go?!” Cait heard one of them roar to the others. She popped up and shot the bastard in the head, but not before one of the little wretches beside him managed to get one off that grazed Cait’s right shoulder. The brawler dropped into a kneel with a curse flying out of her mouth, blood trailing down her arm and to her shotgun. She checked her satchel, eight shells left. _Fuck_. _Gonna need a boost_.

Upon looking around, the brawler found what she was looking for upon the belt of the raider’s corpse. One click and three seconds later there was the explosion which Cait needed to distract them as she retrieved her secret weapon. A pinprick in her arm and rage flooded through her veins, tensing her muscles and feeding the fire that burst inside her belly. “ _Come an’ get me fuckers!_ ” She roared and sprung up with her fully loaded shotgun. The bitch who shot her was the first to go down, her body tumbling down a short flight of stairs from where she was perched atop. Cait stormed forward, abandoning the cover of the car with a glare that could’ve made a Yao Guai shrink away.

Across the street and on the other side of the pre-war intersection, Brock lay wounded and bleeding and fighting off a super mutant hound who had lunged forward and knocked her gun clean out of her grip. She had her hands locked on both the top and bottom jaw, its teeth mere inches from her face as its body pinned her to the ground. She could hear the shouts and bursts of gunfire all around her, yet all she could afford to focus upon was how with each breath she took, the jaws of the mutt got closer and closer. In a last ditch effort, she slammed shut its jaws and used her grip on the beast’s snout to try and lever herself out from under it. But that was when she heard the beeping. A loud, gut wrenching beep that continued to grow louder and louder along with the incessant shouts and gunfire from the raiders. Brock had no idea where Cait was and daren’t look away from the snarling beast, so she did only what she could. The ugly green head of the bomber poked up from behind the shoulder of the mutant’s hound and it was all she could do to hope that the fat and muscle of the beast was thick enough so the nuke wouldn’t kill her as she curled up into a tight ball, using her hands to keep its jaws closed and her leg to keep the mutt between her and the bomb.

Cait – who had by then massacred at least half a dozen raiders – saw the mutant detonate, not knowing that Brock had been under the mass of mutant muscle mere metres away from the suicider. She turned and shot dead a raider that tried to run away, another who popped up to shoot her and then another who darted from cover. Within minutes she had taken the rest of the raiders down one by one, the red haze not leaving her until she stood alone in the street, blood and body parts paving the ground all around her and no sign of the woman in blue. “Brock!” she yelled, her high fading yet the adrenalin remained, leaving her panting. “ _Brock_ where the fuck are ya!?”

She walked towards the street from which they came, her eyes scanning the corpses that littered the ground. A mutant with a hole blown clear through his left eye, a raider with no head, another raider with a serious case of a headache and yet another mutant sporting the same hole through the middle of his forehead. But still no woman in blue.

For a moment, Cait had no idea what to do. The scene all around her was eerily quiet, the dust not quite settled but the battle clearly over. The stinging in her arm caught her attention and made her aware of a few other limbs that must have caught some lead while she rampaged. Just as she lowered her shotgun to administer a stimpak, she heard a faint groan from where the bomber exploded. The wall of the buildings around it were caked in blood, new fractures in the cement clearly visible because they were the only areas in the bloody scene that resembled anything even remotely close to white. As quick as she could with a limp in her step, Cait made her way over to where she thought she heard the noise and could have burst out laughing for any number of reasons.

There among the bits of bone, brain matter and blood the woman lay, her normally blue vault suit now red along with her face and hair that sported the added accessories of mutant chunks. “I don’t know whether yer damn right crazy, suicidal or just fuckin’ lucky, but how the fuck did ye survive that shite?”

Brock shoved off what remained of the mutt – which was very little – and gazed up at the brawler with a pained grin. “Seems dying isn’t that simple, huh.” She muttered, accepting Cait’s hand which pulled her up. Brock groaned, her brow furrowed and hands shaking, yet she pulled away from Cait and forced herself to stand on her own two legs. “What a clusterfuck that was.”

The brawler watched carefully for a few moments, more out of intrigue than anything else, and wondered just how long she will last before crumpling to the ground. Red sludge dripped off her combat armour, her hair matted and frazzled as she leaned over with her hands on her knees. Her green eyes flicked to Cait’s, the only bit of colour on her face that wasn’t red. “I got seventeen of the bastards. You?”

Cait grinned, passing over a stimpak before jamming her own shoulder with one. “Twenty four.”

“Ah, fuck.” Brock chuckled, shaking her head slowly. “I’ll catch you next time.”

 

 

The whole point of the trip was to make it to some beached boat in the middle of a river that housed God-knows how many low life scum on-board and essentially just blow the fucker up, but Brock was not in a state that could see her survive the ordeal. She contemplated returning the Goodneighbour for a patch-up, but was reluctant. She was a mercenary, a hired gun. Those guys were raiders and a few overgrown shits – how the fuck would that look good if Hancock got wind of it? Or worse yet, Fahrenheit? This was her living, she’d end up like that poor sod in Diamond City begging on the streets for a Nuka Cola. So no, despite Cait’s words of caution, Brock was not turning back. She just had to play it smart and hope that her brain wouldn’t fail her in her time of need. _That ghoul better pay us both a shit tonne._

“I’ll take the lead on this one.” The brawler grumbled to her. The river was right in front of the women, the buildings giving way to an almost clear blue sky and an almost pretty river that smelt bitterly repugnant. Brock shot an irritated glance to the redhead who had already stormed ahead, the limp in her step barely unrecognisable. A group of raiders were camped out in front of Backstreet Apparel, laughing and joking in loud voices as if nothing could touch them. They didn’t count on a particularly frustrated Irish woman crashing their party.

There were shouts and gunfire, the booming of Cait’s shotgun as Brock leant against the wall and replaced the bandage on her hip from where the knife of a raider sunk itself within her. The time for concern about the brawler’s safety is when the unmissable sounds of buckshot exploding from its barrel fell silent and when it finally did, a strike of fear sliced through her.

“They shoulda made us fight with these in the Combat Zone,” came the unmistakable Irish voice. “Woulda been much more entertainin’.”

Brock breathed a heavy sigh of relief when the woman rounded the corner holding up her prized power-fist with a satisfied grin. “You know, I’ve seen a few of those with branding irons fastened to it.” At Cait’s questioning lift of an eyebrow, she elaborated, hoping the woman wouldn’t notice her clutching her side. “You could literally burn your name into some fucker’s head if you wanted to.”

“Now _that_ sounds like somethin’ I can get behind.” The brawler grinned. She _did_ notice the way Brock was limping as she pushed off the wall and limped towards the river, but she knew better than to ask the woman if she were okay. After all, they’ve only known each other not even for two full days yet.

“So what’s ya plan on takin’ those floatin’ fuckers down?”

Brock leaned on the metal guard rail and looked over to the floating mass of boat and shipping containers. The command centre was wedged between two partially raised bridges, a makeshift staircase leading down from there to the bowels of the ship before further paths were strewn together with wooden planks to make a platform that led to the cargo on a floating mass of metal. With a heavy sigh, Brock turned to Cait who leaned against the barrier next to her and gave her a doubtful look. “Well, I was planning on sinking it.”

“How?” A red eyebrow cocked and a cheeky smirk crossed the woman’s lips. For a moment, Brock was left breathless at the sight of her, with the sun bearing down on them and illuminating the brawler’s red hair like a halo of dancing flames.

“I…uh…I didn’t get that far.” Brock managed. She cleared her throat and turned her back to the ship, crossing her arms against her chest and making sure not to look over at the woman again for a while.

“Somethin’ tells me ya ain’t up to fightin’ em off ya again at close range.”

Brock hummed the affirmative, looking around the dead raiders scattered in front of Backstreet Apparel for anything even remotely useful. She suddenly wished she had thought to restock her supply of grenades back at Goodneighbour. “Hey, how ‘bout that? Look over there.”

Brock’s gaze followed Cait’s and she spotted large metallic tube sticking out from a semi truck’s cylindrical load. “Holy shit. Is that the ass end of a rocket launcher?”

Cait pushed away and inspected the tube, turning around and grinning like an idiot as she dislodged it from its stand. “Oooh Brocky-girl, we hit the motherload.” The Irishwoman walked forward, her boot clipping a small rectangular box which spilled open and revealed a small stash of missiles. Cait’s grin only widened.

Brock stopped one that rolled towards her with her boot and looked up to her companion, a wicked grin upon her own lips too. “You know, I’m really starting to like your company, Cait.” She picked up the missile and carefully loaded the rest back inside the box as the brawler settled herself into a crouch, the missile launcher perched upon her well-developed shoulder and steadied on the metal guard in front of her. Brock couldn’t help but raise a brow at the sight, a stir of something within her beginning to warm up her core which was most unexpected by the woman in blue.

“You know what you’re doing with that?” Brock’s words earned her a narrow-eyed look that was thrown over the brawler’s shoulder. With a small laugh, Brock settled in beside her with her rifle also settled atop the guard, the crate of missiles securely planted on the ground between them. “Fire away, I’ve got your back.”

“Oh this’ll be fun.” Cait purred. A moment later, the roar of the first missile shot out from the mouth of the rocket launcher and sped towards the bowels of the boat with a fading hiss before the boom of the impact shattered the relative silence of the Commonwealth. The explosion blew apart the rear end of the boat, the platforms leading up to the raised bridges collapsing down with chunks of metal and wood flying off in all directions. Cait let out an exhilarated laugh, grinning from ear to ear like an idiot as she loaded another.

As the remaining raiders began to stir, scurrying around from the unexpected assault, Brock began picking off those whose heads popped up out of cover looking for the origin of the missile. Her aim was true, one bullet one kill, and she had taken down three before Cait fired off the second missile that hit the wall of metal shipping containers. Both women froze and watched over the sights of their weapons as the wall of containers fell backwards onto the makeshift camp in the middle of the cargo platform. The loud crash of metal on metal echoed throughout the city, a sound large enough that Brock would’ve bet the folks of Diamond City heard it. She glanced over to Cait with a wicked laugh, the woman herself joining in a moment later.

“One more ya reckon?” Cait asked, eyes sparkling.

“Hell yeah.” Brock grinned in return, clasping Cait’s shoulder. She was _really_ starting to like having Cait around, whether it was because her back was always covered or because it was nice to be shoulder to shoulder with someone just as reckless as she was. Either way though, the Irish brawler _certainly_ had nestled herself a nice little spot within Brock.

 


	3. Bloodied Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slowly but surely the relationship between the mysterious Brock and her companion - the hotheaded brawler Cait - is steadily growing, as is the sexual tension AND their pile of caps...

It was getting on towards late afternoon in the Commonwealth, the sky was smeared deep orange with dashes of yellow and red streaking from the horizon. An occasional holler sounded from something far off that would normally be cause for a loaded shotgun if it were closer, but neither woman sitting at the makeshift campsite were bothered by it. Each were used to the sounds of the Commonwealth, one more so than the other who found herself jumping at shadows cast from the dead trees or boulders she hadn’t noticed before that were only just coming into her focus. Although that could be due to the psycho flooding her system.

For Brock, it was a night like any other except she was still covered from head to toe in blood and there was an almost constantly smirking Irishwoman who sat opposite her, staring into the fire and scanning their surroundings when she wasn’t poking fun at Brock’s state.

“Still reckon sittin’ in that squalor is better than an infection?” Cait asked, wiping the residual soup from the corner of her mouth. Brock gave a heavy sigh, wincing at the stench of dried mutant blood that seemed to get worse as each minute ticked by.

“Considering an infection could mean certain death out here, I’ll grin and bear it.”

The decision not to bath in the river that ran tantalisingly close to where they were camped was due to the fact that the stimpaks Brock had injected herself with hadn’t quite closed off the many wounds she had occasioned from their earlier fight with a pack of super mutants and raiders. She had figured whatever was already in her system would be fought off by the stimpaks and med-x and when the gashes and holes in her finally healed closed, she’d risk eventually washing the blood and chunks off in the equally as filthy river. Returning to Goodneighbour was not an option, she’d never get a contract from there again if they saw her like this.

“Ya can’t seriously be thinkin’ ‘bout sleepin’ in that mess. Every damn Yao Guai will catch wind of ya and come lookin’ for a meal.”

Brock sighed again, that time not being able to hold in a gag at the stench. Cait certainly had a point. With a grumble the Irishwoman couldn’t quite make out, Brock stood and walked down the embankment, unmindful of the green eyes following her as she removed her vault suit and dove right into the water.

 _Fuckin’ hell. Damn woman has one hell of a body._ Cait watched, her soup forgotten in her hands as Brock soon became lost in the water’s reflection of the orange sunset above. _Need a closer look, just a quick little peep._

Cait looked around their camp for the perfect excuse to get a little closer to the woman, realising something that made her freeze once again and had nothing to do with the glimpse of a perfectly rounded bare bottom that had made her mouth go dry moments before.

Brock had left Cait alone at the camp, the same camp that had everything the woman owned. The monster of an assault rifle lay dormant next to the fire, her pile of freshly cleaned combat armour lay upon her sleeping bag and a neat satchel of caps and chems lay between Brock’s shotgun and her trusty 44. Magnum. If Cait had of wanted to, if she had of been one of the scummiest sacks of shite in the Commonwealth like the patrons that frequented the Combat Zone, she could have taken everything and left the woman to run around the Commonwealth naked with nothing but her tits and ass to her name.

To say that Cait never contemplated doing it would be a lie, but as soon as the thought had popped into her mind it vanished and instead of having her pack up everything and slipping away into the night, Cait lugged it all haphazardly down to the shore and sat upon a boulder, retrieving a rag.

“Here,” She said, throwing Brock the rag so she could at least have a chance to try and decently clean herself. The woman raised an eyebrow as she caught the fabric, but nevertheless continued on, nonplussed that she had an audience.

“You paranoid about someone stealing our stuff, huh?” She asked over her shoulder with the barest hint of a smirk.

“ _You_ aren’t?” Cait shot back, grinning now that she could _clearly_ see the work of art that was Brock’s body. Lean curves, muscled and sculpted in the most delicious ways had Cait’s heart double-time it. That ass that was normally clad in the tight blue vault suit was now bare for her perusal. _Holy damn._

Brock turned around from where she stood up to her waist in the water, unconsciously or uncaringly giving Cait a full frontal view of her full breasts and sculptured abdomen. “You’re still here aren’t you?”

For a moment, Cait was left confused about what the woman was talking about. Was she staring at her for too long? _Shite_. “Watcha mean?”

Brock gave a small laugh, running her fingers through her hair as she regarded Cait’s perplexed features. It hadn’t escaped her notice that the brawler was checking her out and to say that it didn’t excite her in the least would have been a lie. “You’re literally still here, Cait. So no. I’m not paranoid about someone stealing our stuff.”

Brock watched with a smirk as Cait’s brows furrowed slightly, the redheaded woman then glancing from her to their belongings and back again in realisation. “So ya _were_ testin’ me then?”

Brock gave a quiet sigh and offered a small smile. “In a way. I had a feeling I could trust you. Guess I was right, hmm?” she gave Cait a sly wink before she began wiping herself down with the rag, thinking to herself just how _fucking_ _lucky_ she was that her hunch about this woman was right.

Cait on the other hand, didn’t know whether to be angry about being tested or confused about someone actually trusting her. _Her_ of all people. It most certainly didn’t help her state of mind when Brock walked out of the water _towards_ Cait to retrieve and clean the vault suit, droplets of water running down along the delicious curves of her body. _Fuckin’ hell. I need a drink._

 

* * *

 

Being on the road with Brock was something Cait never thought she’d enjoy. At least, not _this_ much anyway. The woman was ruthless, either uncaring or just one stone cold bitch that didn’t give a shit about anything. Either way, Cait loved it. There were too many bleeding hearts and ones that could do with a little less evil pumping through them, so it was rare when one came across who wasn’t a piece of shit or some naïve bastard lucky to have survived infancy. To top it off, the woman could handle herself in a gunfight, mercilessly mowing down as many as she could with one clip before switching weapons, not even bothering to reload until after the dust has settled. Albeit, Cait wasn’t particularly fond of trying that tactic out for herself but it seemed to be working for Brock who clearly knew what she was doing. It also didn’t hurt that she was an absolute _master_ of lock picking, making Cait feel like a novice.

“Hey, have you ever heard of that tale about some monster out here that’s like half human half worm or some shit?” Brock asked suddenly, drawing back Cait’s attention who drifted off. The redhead looked quizzically over to the woman who was walking steadily beside her on an ancient road, her hair casually flowing in the breeze. “Apparently it has these tentacles that come out of its mouth and it pukes up acid that burns right through stone.”

“Sounds like a whole lot o’ shite to me.” Cait mumbled, eliciting a short laugh from Brock who nodded in agreement. “Where’d ya hear that one?”

“I was eavesdropping on a bunch of raiders the other day, nothing too interesting except for all the shitty stories they manage to come up with. Had a good stash of chems on ‘em though.”

“Oh Brocky, if ya had of heard some of the shite the losers back in the Combat Zone managed to come up with, ya would piss yerself laughin’ at ‘em.”

Brock glanced over with a raised eyebrow, curious now because of how the Irishwoman chuckled to herself. “Go on...”

“Well, there was this one idiot who apparently had a shag with some three titted lass from somewhere south. Personally, I think he got properly bladdered one day and ended up rootin’ a Brahmin.”

Brock sputtered and choked on her laugh, having to stop walking so she could get a hold of herself. Cait couldn’t help but grin when she heard the sound, forgetting for a moment just how fucked up the _other_ side of the Combat Zone had been. It was a good minute or two and by the time they resumed walking Brock had wiped a few tears from her eyes. “Fuck, you _must_ tell me some more of those.”

“Oh I heard heaps.” Cait said, beginning the recital of many of the fucked up stories she heard _and_ saw over the past three years in that hellhole, including the time where one idiot got high enough on psycho that he thought it was a good idea to run head first into a brick wall to prove he was worthy of being the ‘king’ of the Combat Zone. It made for good entertainment as the pair unhurriedly trekked through the ruins of Boston on the return path to Goodneighbour, although most of the tales brought back unpleasant memories for Cait. But she found that with Brock’s easy laugh and quick wit, along with the knowledge that she won’t ever have to return that hellhole, she’d finally be able to begin to put that part of her life behind her and move on. To _where_ exactly, Cait didn’t know, but she was beginning to feel that wherever the hell this particular woman was would be where she would want to be too.

 

* * *

 

 “Ah there’s my favourite gal,” Came a husky voice from the right. Brock and Cait were seated in a dark corner of the Third Rail, nursing their third bottle of whiskey and listening absentmindedly to Magnolia singing some love song. Mayor Hancock – along with Fahrenheit who tagged along just behind him – pulled up an old wooden chair and sat down, a large grin on his face as he deposited a hefty looking bag that sounded like a shitload of caps on the table. “Recent rumblings suggest that the little problem has been taken care of, am I right?”

“They’re sleeping with the fishes.” Brock murmured with a smirk. Hancock grinned and leaned back in his chair, his black eyes flicking over to Magnolia and then over to Cait.

“So where’d she pick you up from?”

Cait narrowed her eyes slightly, uncomfortable with his sudden curiosity but begrudgingly answered anyway. “The Combat Zone.”

“Ah, so _you’re_ the broad entertaining that gang, I wouldn’t imagine they woulda let you go easy. How much did she cost you, Brock?”

“Who said I paid?” The woman retorted, taking another swig as she split the pile of caps with her free hand into halves.

The Mayor glanced to Fahrenheit and then to Brock, heaving a heavy sigh before swiping off his tri-corner hat and brushing a bit of dirt off of it, frustrated. “Dammit Brock. They were payin’ customers.”

Cait glanced over to the woman next to her who looked surprisingly sharply at the Mayor, a darkness creeping into her green gaze a she stared him down. “I don’t see how that’s a problem. You get paid once for the chems, I get them back, sell ‘em to Daisy for less than half of what they’re really worth and you get to sell ‘em again. That’s like what, almost double for the same lot?”

An uncomfortable moment passed between the small group, Fahrenheit was staring at Brock who intern had returned her attention to the caps, her whiskey bottle now dry. Finally, the Mayor sighed and plopped back on his hat, rising from his seat and motioning to Whitechapel Charlie.

“Next round’s on me.” He glanced back down to the pair and gave a curt nod with a smile, or at least, what appeared to be an attempt at one. “You ladies have yourselves a fine evening.”

Cait watched the Mayor and his side wench leave, climbing the stairs without even a single glance back at them. Brock meanwhile had pushed half of the caps in front of Cait and stored the other half in her own satchel.

“What’s this?” Cait asked, voice high in surprise. With an amused smile, Brock leaned back and accepted the drinks Whitechapel Charlie brought over, waiting until his robotic back was turned before replying as she popped open her fourth bottle.

“From what I recall, I wasn’t the only one doing the dirty work out there.” She said, raising an eyebrow.

“Ya aren’t worried that’s poisoned?” Cait indicated the whiskey, but Brock only shook her head.

“Hancock is a little rough around the edges but he’s not like that. If he wants someone’s head, he goes straight in for it. There’s no dancing around in the shadows, putting little drops of poison in people’s drinks and besides, do you really think _Whitechapel Charlie_ would have it in him to spike the booze?”

Cait remained silent for a moment, the sound of Magnolia’s voice filling her head as she mulled things over. At least two hundred and fifty caps were neatly piled in a small mountain in front of her, the mass of silver and red too much for her to fully comprehend that they were actually _hers_. She looked to Brock after securing them in her own satchel, slightly bewildered at the weight of it all, but the woman’s attention was on something at the other end of the room.

Her features somehow looked sharper in the dim light and if Cait didn’t know any better, she’d say the woman didn’t have a drop of liquor in her. _That_ was another aspect that surprised her. The brawler had scarce competition in drinking games back at the Combat Zone which generally revolved around who could stay conscious the longest when sculling bottles of vodka and whatever else kind of alcohol found itself there. Brock however, seemed to be easily keeping up. Hell, if she were a better person Cait would admit the woman could probably hold it better than _her_.

A shimmer of red caught her attention then as it weaved through the patrons at the bar and casually approached their table. Magnolia, a woman no older than thirty with a killer smile and a rack to die for, sat herself down on the other side of Brock with a glass of wine in her hand. The red dress she wore was silhouetted against the dirty red seats so there was no mistaking it when Cait noticed her lean close, _too_ close to Brock. She watched as her hand came to rest high on Brock’s thigh and her lips move in a whisper at Brock’s ear, whatever she was saying had then drawn out a smile and soft laugh from the mercenary.

“And who do we have here?” the woman purred loud enough for Cait to hear, her hand still on Brock who took in another mouthful of whiskey.

“Her name’s Cait. One hell of a good shot with a rocket launcher too.”

Cait folded her arms across her chest, already hating the introduction game, and stared at her own bottle that was still full. She ignored Magnolia, ignored Brock too and just watched the Mr Handy at the bar serve his patrons for a solid ten minutes before Brock and that woman rose.

“I’ll shout a room for you at the Rexford,” Brock said. “Meet you in the lobby at around ten?”

Cait just nodded and pretended not to care what the fuck happens and certainly not about _why_ the fuck Magnolia was leaving with Brock also. So she stayed in the Third Rail, the bottle of whiskey now warm as Cait mindlessly glared at it, wondering what the hell was wrong with her now. _A fix. I need a fuckin’ fix._ She felt around her belt, almost flinching at the fullness of the pouch filled with caps and found what she was looking for in a nice neat and tidy syringe in the neighbouring satchel. The brawler leant over, holding the fix of psycho under the table before rubbing at a spot in her skin where the needle will puncture. It was her little ritual before she plunged the needle and pressed down on its other end, closing her eyes as a familiar warm wave of aggression engulfed her, burying whatever the fuck she had been feeling under an understandable and controllable wall of anger.


End file.
